


The Bigger Picture

by heckingood



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emetophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-05 20:18:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckingood/pseuds/heckingood
Summary: In which Cassandra arrives a few minutes too late.A 'what-if' fic for Red Robin 24 and 25. Heed the warnings!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A warm up fic for a longer piece I'm attempting. It's been a while since I've written, so please forgive the rust. 
> 
> This fic takes place pre-flash point and will continue (probably) as if flashpoint never occurs. Canon was tweaked a bit for the story's sake. Some of the dialogue was also lifted right from Red Robin 24 and 25.
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

Waking up from the darkness felt like dying. 

Well, like Tim imagined dying would feel anyway.

His vision swam as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the room. His mind felt sluggish as he tried to piece together his new location. Stone walls decorated in hieroglyphics pressed in tight on either side. Mountains of skulls lined near all of the available floor space. Except, he noted with interest, where a large skull was carved out of the dirt floor. The intricate design was spiraled with trenches. Clearly ritualistic.

'Paris', his mind supplied helpfully, 'the catacombs'.

So then, his theory on the location of the headquarters of the mysterious figure running the Assassination Tournament was correct. It seemed his kidnapper saved him some time in bringing him here. Hopefully Cassandra was already en route from Hong Kong. They had planned to meet in Paris to investigate the catacombs together.

Belatedly, he noticed that his arms were chained to the wall above his head. A cursory test of their strength proved that they were capable of holding him.

Trapped then.

"He stirs." a familiar voice sounded from in front of him. Tim turned his head, forcing his eyes to focus one more. He still felt off balance and dizzy. His side ached from where he had been struck down hours earlier.

Promise stood in front of him, hand on her hip as she looked down at his prone form.

"I apologize for what I did to you," She started, though Tim struggled to hear any remorse in her tone. "As my blood dept to kill Mikalek forces me to act against my conscience, so does the blood honor I owe my family."

Family?

Tim's eyes narrowed in on the robed figure behind Promise. 

"Family..?" He slurred. "You said...your sister?"

The woman moved forward, stepping confidently around Promise. It was clear who was to be in charge here. Tim could feel an oppressive energy coming off the new woman in waves. He shifted uncomfortably on his knees, trying to take stock of his condition. No major injuries. A tingling in his arms from lack of blood. He still had his belt. If only he could reach it.

"You seek order, but your life is a labyrinth, Timothy-" The mysterious woman began in an all too familiar tone as she drew back her hood. Tim sucked in a sharp breath as he took in the dark energy gathered in her eyes - pitch black and swirling with the promise of death. Another Daughter of Acheron.

"You have been targeted for death in this tournament because you seek to learn too much." She continued, drawing closer. "It is unexpected irony that to obtain these ancient secrets you must die tonight."

Tim's heart thudded wildly in his chest as he attempted to lash out with his leg. The woman paused just out of range and looked down at him with a mocking, soft expression. As if he were a child throwing a tantrum before bed.

"You see, I want nothing more from you than the very essence of life, Timothy. Though your flesh dies now, know that your spirit will be honored and you will live on," She paused as her cape slid over her shoulders to fall noiselessly to the ground. "Through the child you are about to give me."

He froze, staring at her with wide eyes as the meaning of her words sunk in. There was no way this was happening. Yes, Ras had developed an unhealthy obsession with him in the time that Bruce was gone, but there was no way that he would sink this low. He wouldn't send his sister to accomplish what biology had prevented. He wouldn't. He-

The woman knelt in front of him, reaching as if to push his cowl back from his face. Tim reacted violently, thrashing towards her and attempting once more to sweep her feet with his leg. She side stepped him easily, letting out a put upon sigh.

"Why must you fight this? Surely you of all people can tell when you have been bested. Accept your fate."

"Never." Tim hissed, drawing his leg back and watching for her next move. 'Cass is coming, she knows where I am,' he thought fervently, 'she'll be here any minute. Just have to hold them off.'

The woman sighed again and gestured to Promise casually.

"Disrobe him."

Promise stepped forward with forceful steps, taking hold of Tim's cowl and yanking it back roughly. His scalp ached from where it had pulled against hair. He blinked blearily up at her. The catacomb looked rather different without the lenses of his cowl. He suddenly felt all the more vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't have to do this." He reasoned, trying to meet Promise's eyes. Promise held his gaze before shaking her head minutely. Tim couldn't tell if a small flash of sympathy ghosted across her face or if it was just the flicker of the candlelight playing tricks with his eyes.

"I have no choice in the matter." She stated simply. "Nor do you."

She dropped to a crouch in front of him and slid her hands up under his armpits. Tim started violently, twitching away from the contact. Promise paid him no mind as she continued to trail her hands along his sides, her fingers nimbly feeling along every seam of his suit.

'Looking for the catches,' Tim thought with growing alarm.

Gritting his teeth, he reared his head back as far as his bonds allowed before jerking forward as hard as he could. Their heads connected with a dull thud and Promise was sent stumbling back with a curse.

"You're making this harder on yourself, you stupid boy!" She snarled at him, striking him viscously with a backhand. Tim's cheek stung as his head snapped to the side.  
Promise lunged forward again, attempting to continue her search. Tim resumed his struggle, thrashing from side to side despite the lancing pain it caused his arms. Anything to stop her. Anything to buy Cass more time. She was coming. She'd be here any minute.

"Enough!" The Daughter of Acheron barked from behind them. Promise froze, hands still hooked through Tim's bandoleers. "Let us end this foolish struggle. Secure him."

Promise nodded grimly as she let go of Tim's costume. She moved suddenly, grabbing a fistful of Tim's hair and pulling his head back as far as his neck allowed. Tim floundered as he was thrown off balance, spreading his knees and arching his back to keep the pressure off of his neck and shoulders. As he struggled to right himself, he felt the weight of Promise kneeling on his shins. The blunt barrel of her gun pressed firmly up against his lower back. Tim froze as panic gripped him.

"Behave or I'll put a bullet in you now. A real one." Promise whispered against his ear. Then, as if reading his mind, she continued, "And not where you want one."

Within moments, the Daughter's hands were on him. He hadn't even realized she had crossed the gap between them. She prodded his sides with deft fingers, picking up where Promise had left off.

Tim was suddenly grateful that he had modified his suit. It would be difficult to separate the top from the bottom without knowing exactly where the catches were.

The Daughter's hands explored his sides, tugging every now and then. With an angry exhale, he felt the Daughter pull away. Tim swallowed against the lump in his throat as he allowed himself to hope. Hope that his suit was too difficult. That it was too much work to get into it. Maybe she would start to monologue again. Give Cass enough time to navigate this maze and find him.

His relief was short lived.

Tim felt a narrow, uncomfortable pressure against his left hip. An icy jolt of fear shot through him as he recognized what it was. A knife. He couldn't crane his head down far enough to see exactly what type of blade she was using. 'She shouldn't be able to get through.' He though, his mind racing. His suit could certainly stand up to a knife slash, provided someone was even able to get close enough to try. But if that someone had the time to work at its weak points...

The Daughter began to saw with single minded purpose at his suit. 

'She won't get through,' Tim repeated to himself as he began to squirm as much as he was able between the two women, 'Cass is on her way'.

The Daughter paid him no mind, hands steady as she continued to work at the seam of his suit. After several dedicated slices, the material of the suit parted. The tip of blade bit hard into the sensitive flesh underneath. Tim yelped and jerked with renewed vigor against his captors.

"No, no!" He gasped, trying to yank his head out of Promise's grasp. His mind raced. He had to see the Daughter. Had to figure out a way to counter her. Had to figure out how far she had gotten in cutting apart his suit. How could he buck Promise off? Where was Cass?

Promise's grip remained firm.

"This is crazy!" He screamed, pain flaring along his sides and belly as the knife made its way along his suit. The woman carefully skirted his belt, leaving it intact but still out of reach of Tim. After what felt like an eternity, a warm hand snuck under his suit, parting red from black.

Things became hazy as Tim's mind became overwhelmed with the horror of the situation. This was happening. He couldn't escape. They were going to...

He gulped down a deep breath. Tried think his way out of this situation. Batman had taught him that there was always a way out. Always an escape. There had to be.

But then again, wasn't this pretty much how they ended up with Damian?

Tim vaguely noted that he had begun trembling uncontrollably. The tremor started in his core and quickly spread to his limbs. His knees and calves ached from where they were pinned down firmly to the floor. He had long ago lost sensation in his arms. There would be no escape.

He was alone.

The bottom of his suit was yanked roughly down, just enough to suit the woman's purposes. Tim squeezed his eyes shut tightly, willing himself to think of somewhere else. Be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. He tried to block out the present as the Daughter made quick work of his jock. As she exposed him. Stimulated him.

His stomach rolled and he dry-heaved.

"Please don't." He whispered desperately, noting with detached horror just how young he sounded.

"I will not be denied." The woman replied curtly as she shrugged the last drape of her robe to the floor. "Perhaps you'll even enjoy this."

Then, without warning, she was on him. Around him. Utilitarian in purpose. He was a conquest after all, not a companion. She rocked against him fiercely, jarring his body and sending spikes of pain up his numb arms.

Promise's gun dug more firmly into his back. He wished she would shoot him and end this.

"Release his head," The Daughter of Archeon hissed against his throat where she had been busy biting bruises into his barred skin. "I want him to look at me."

Promise at last released the clump of hair she had been holding. Tim's head lolled forward against his chest. When he made no attempt to move, the Daughter grasped his chin tightly and wrenched his head up. Tim looked helplessly into her eyes, still swirling and overflowing with ominous black energy.

"You are part of something glorious." She affirmed, squeezing hard around him as if to prove her point. 

He grit his teeth, trying to stifle a sob that swelled in his throat and threatened to choke him. She dominated his senses. All he could see was her naked form pressed tight against him. All he could hear was her soft, pleased exhales as she took him. Desperate, his eyes darted frantically first to the crumbling ceiling of the cavern, then to the pile of skulls on the floor, then the hieroglyphics detailing the history of the Assassination Tournament. Anything to not be in his skin in this moment.

Time seemed to slow down. Tim wasn't sure how long his violation lasted. He did remember how it ended.

He came finally with a soft, unbidden whimper. Someone was petting his hair. Meaningless words of praise were whispered against his cheek. The Daughter's weight was lifted from his lap as she rose gracefully to her feet as if nothing had happened. Promise stood as well, leaving Tim once again supported entirely by the manacles around his wrists.  


He continued to tremble, teeth rattling and entire body curling in on itself as much as possible. They spoke above him as he choked on his breaths. Emptied the meager contents of his stomach on to the floor. His eyes burned with tears that began to slide freely over his flushed face.

Then the world around him suddenly exploded into violence.

Black Bat flew into the room, silent as a shadow. She was on the Daughter before the woman even had a chance to pull her robe back on. Promise reacted moments later, drawing her gun and firing several rounds at the hero. Black Bat weaved and dodged with liquid grace, knocking the gun from Promise's hands and downing her within seconds. 

The Daughter was on her feet once more, hands crackling with black energy. Black Bat let fly a batarang, missing the woman entirely but hitting a weak point in the chain restraining Tim's arm. Tim would have been impressed, if he could pull together his frantic thoughts long enough to comprehend it. As it was, his arm fell limply to his side, dead weight. He flexed and shifted the limb, desperate to get blood flow back into it. 

He heard more then saw the fight between his sister and the Daughter. He had fished a pick out of his belt and was fervently working to free his still chained arm. His fingers were uncooperative, numb and sore from their abuse. 

He cursed softly as the pick slipped a second time. He had been picking harder cuffs since he was 13. 

He heard a grunt of pain behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Black Bat was still in charge of the battle, if only for now. The Daughter stumbled back as a kick connected with her side. The dark energy curling around her arms flared and she charged at the Black Bat in fury.

Finally, the manacle gave and creaked open, freeing Tim from the wall. He was on his feet in an instant. He nearly collapsed back to his knees as the nerves in his legs awoke in a violent protest from being held in the same position for so long. He leaned against the wall, trying to will life back into dead limbs. He spotted his bo carelessly lying against the wall among a pile of skulls, just out of reach from where he had been chained.

They had been confident. Too confident maybe.

Then again, so had he.

He lurched forward once more, snatching his weapon and wheeling to face the fight still raging behind him. The Daughter had sprung, preparing to strike Black Bat while she screamed about an interrupted ceremony. About the seed of the son.

Tim swung with all his strength, his staff connecting with the back of her head in a sickening crack. The woman dropped instantly, crumpling to the floor between the two heroes feet. Cassandra moved as if to restrain her, but froze the moment she saw Tim. 

Tim stumbled a few steps away, turning his back to Black Bat. He leaned once more upon the wall for support, chest heaving as he tried to gain control of his body. He rubbed a rough gauntlet against his eyes as he blinked back fresh tears.

"Red Robin," Black Bat started softly as she came up behind him. Settled a clawed hand on his shoulder.

"No," He hissed, violently shrugging off her touch "Don't! Just, just let me-" He frantically began to adjust himself, using the contents of his belt to pin his costume back together. To try to give himself a semblance of decency. He became aware that he was hyperventilating and forced himself to breathe slower. Deeper. In for a seven count. Held for a ten. Released for an eight.

He felt Black Bat's eyes on his back. He could feel the pity rolling off of her. He didn't know how to deal with this.

So he chose not to.

He finally turned to Black Bat. He gave her an easy smile, well practiced in all his years of pretending to be fine. He knew it wouldn't fool Cassandra, but it wasn't her that he was trying to fool. He had come with a job to do. He prayed the intel he had sent Cassandra earlier was accurate. 

"Thanks for coming." He said casually. As if she had dropped by to visit at his apartment rather than find him disheveled in the catacombs of Paris.

Black Bat's mouth thinned to a line. He met her eyes with a pleading gaze. He had sacrificed too much to stumble at the finish line. For a moment, he thought that she was not going to play along. Finally, she nodded in acknowledgement.

"Offer was tempting." She replied in the same easy tone. He turned his back to her as he slowly made his way to the large skull engraved into the floor of the cavern. Merely decoration for anyone not in the know. Tim hoped his research was correct. 

Moments later as he laid on the hard stone ground of the crypt, feigning his death for their unseen observer as his bagged blood leaked out from under him, he realized that the cavern around him was eeirely quite. There was no tell-tale labored breathing or the dazed shuffling of two bodies waking up. He didn't need to open his eyes to confirm his suspicion.

Promise and her sister were gone.

It was too late to alert Cass - giving himself away now could kill both of them. Even if he did, and even if they survived, he had no way of knowing which way the pair had gone. Getting lost in the catacombs was a very real possibility.

No, he was here with a plan. A mission. A goal. If Tim was good for anything, it was following through on his plans.

After all, Red Robin must die.

And if a few tears rolled off his nose to mingle with his blood staining the floor, who would even notice?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love how this came out, but better done than perfect I suppose!
> 
> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

Tim wasn't okay. Cassandra didn't need him to admit it to her to see it.

Everything about him radiated agony, from the way his usually fluid gait was unnaturally stiff to the tight grimace fixed across his face. Red Robin was in rough shape even before their disembodied tormentor had rigged the hidden base to blow. Even running as fast as they could, they had only narrowly escaped the trap. 

Lucky then that Cassandra had had the foresight to mark her path as she had made her way towards Tim's homing beacon. It would have been all too easy to get turned around in the narrow, dark tunnels. To get swallowed up and become just another corpse under the streets of Paris. It had been a necessary precaution, one that hadn't slowed her down much on her way in.

But from the state of her brother, she grimly realized it had slowed her down just enough.

They'd emerged onto the streets gasping and singed, but miraculously alive. Cassandra could still feel the phantom heat of the flames and hear the deafening roar of the fire as it sucked the air from the tunnels even as they watched the road cave in over the chasm the explosion had opened. There would always be close calls in their line of work, but this one had seemed too close.

Black Bat and Red Robin had remained only long enough to ensure that no civilians were hurt in the blast. The very moment the first police had arrived to secure the scene, the pair had melted into the shadows. Tim had taken off without a word, heading in what Cassandra could only assume was the direction of the nearest Batman Incorporated approved safe house. Bruce had had the property outfitted barely a month prior. They would likely be its first visitors.

Cassandra tailed her brother quietly, and when he made no attempt to lose her, moved up along side him. What little of his face she could see under his cowl was pale despite his exertion. His leaps were sloppy in a way that they hadn't been even when they had first met years ago. Uncoordinated, and perhaps even more dangerously, uncaring of that fact. Once, as they spanned a particularly large gap, Tim shot his grapple inaccurately, the line veering off course so wildly that Cassandra had panicked and snatched the back of Tim's bandoleers. Tim jerked violently in response, escaping her grip only when his line caught a lucky anchor point and allowed him to complete the swing with his little remaining momentum.

They finally came to perch on top of a large, stone faced building. Cassandra strolled the perimeter of the building with casual ease, admiring the neighborhood and checking for followers in one easy motion. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Tim accessed a small, hidden panel in the roof plates. He struggled for a minute, punching in a code only to curse softly under his breath. Another attempt yielded better results. The panel slid open and he gestured for her to follow before slipping into the building.

The apartment was a small and modern studio. The rent alone in this area of town likely cost a small fortune. The living space flowed directly into a fully furnished kitchen. Slip covers were draped over the furniture, but had been so recently applied that dust had yet to settle. The faint smell of wet paint still permeated the air. 

Tim immediately stalked through the apartment, checking and re-checking the security systems with an intensity that would have put Bruce to shame. Cassandra had known that her brother had become more closed off ever since Bruce had died. Even after his return, Tim still clung to the near paranoia the upset had caused in his life like a crutch. Trying to reassert control in his life in whatever way he could.

Not that she was one to judge. Staying in Gotham had been too painful for her in Bruce's absence. Gotham still had its protectors, though it had been difficult to see her oldest brother take up Bruce's mantle. Damian, crass and reckless as he had been at the start, had developed a grudging respect for his Batman and was operating successfully within his new role. Oracle and her Bird's control over the streets further proved that she had not been needed for the time being.

And Stephanie...

Stephanie had needed the chance to grow and prove herself a hero in her own right. Barbara would never have given her the chance if Cassandra had remained.

In a way, uprooting her life and starting over in Hong Kong had been her only option at the time. She had only been back to visit a hand full of times since Bruce's return. Once, just to see her father. Another time for the initial meeting of all Batman Incorporated agents. Gotham was still painful in a way she just couldn't articulate.

Finally satisfied, Tim made a beeline for the single bedroom.

"Tim," Cassandra started softly at his retreating form.

Unsurprisingly, no reply came. Doggedly, she followed him into the room and settled herself gingerly on the edge of the single queen bed.

"Tim?" She tried again.

"I don't want to talk about it." Tim replied shortly. He was pacing. Tense, restless energy drove him through the room and wouldn't allow him to rest. A line of blood trailed out from from between the cut edges of his suit, slow at first but trickling faster as the motion agitated the wound.

"Tim." Cassandra repeated more firmly. He would only hurt himself more if she could not get him to take care of himself.

The boy turned to her, a snarl on his face.

"We are not talking about this!" He hissed in a cold rage. His body screamed anxiety and anger. He nearly looked ready to throw himself at her. Whether it would be to fight or for comfort, Cassandra wasn't sure.

"You're bleeding." Cassandra pointed out, gesturing to the dark patch that was slowly spreading along Tim's side.

The fury slipped off of Tim's face as he gazed down at his suit in confusion. Pulled a face that suggested he hadn't noticed before she mentioned it. Confusion was followed by memory and realization.

"Oh," He murmured, plucking at the jagged seam in his suit with two fingers. "Yeah, I guess I am."

Cassandra stood up and slowly approached him as she had learned to do with victims who were too wound up with adrenaline to discern help from further hurt. Tim would have resented it, if he was his right mind. Now, he barely seemed to notice her as she stood beside him.

"Let me help." She pleaded softly. Tim continued to stare downward, unable to meet her gaze. 

"Please." She added, "At least with this."

At last, Tim nodded numbly and allowed himself to be guided to the bed. Once he was seated in the spot Cassandra had vacated, she made her way into the attached bathroom.

She found the kit exactly where she expected, tucked under the sink. Popping it open, she was relieved to find everything she would need to clean and dress most minor wounds, including a suture kit. Always prepared. Cassandra smiled. 

To think, Bruce always insisted Superman was the boy scout. 

She retrieved a towel from the orderly linen closet before making her way back out into the bedroom. To her surprise, she found Tim sitting already bare chested, the top half of his suit dropped carelessly on the floor beside him. He had balled up the bed's top sheet and held it pressed tightly to his side. Worryingly, he still avoided looking up at her. 

"How bad?" She asked softly as she sat next to him, spreading the contents of the kit out on the bed between them. Once she had her tools assembled, she handed the towel to Tim gently. He took it with his free hand and gingerly tucked it under himself.

"One deep. The rest are superficial." Tim replied in the same tone he used when reporting to Bruce after a bad night on patrol. Tight, clipped, and with a hint of self-directed anger. The line of his jaw was tense.

Cassandra hummed in acknowledgement, hand brushing against Tim's as she reached out to pull the ruined sheet away. The boy flinched back from her touch as if he had been burned and shoved his hands forcefully into fabric of the towel beneith him. The dirtied sheet was tossed to the floor as Cassandra leaned in to examine her brother's injuries.  
A band of slices ran from hip to hip. Most were small, bleeding sluggishly, if at all. The worst ran across his left hipbone and dipped down into the tender flesh below. 

"This one," Cassandra tapped very gently above the tip of the wound, "I'll have to..."

"I know." Tim cut her off, turning his head away to stare hard at the opposite wall. Then, as if realizing the harshness of his tone added, "It's okay. Go ahead."

With his head turned, Cassandra could see the dark bruise the woman had bitten into Tim's throat. Her heart broke as she slipped on a pair of gloves and opened the suture kit. She wished there was something she could say. Some comfort she could give. Anything to take away the pain.

But words were still hard at times and she had a feeling there was very little she could say in this moment anyway.

So she did what she could.

Her hands were steady as she sterilized the injury. As she applied the topical numbing agent. As she carefully, lovingly stitched Tim's wound closed. Tim made no sound during the entire process, save for a sudden, hiccuping breath that Cassandra knew had very little to do with the physical pain he was experiencing.

When she was finished with her neat row of stitches, she set the tools to the side to be sterilized later. She disinfected remainder of the cuts as necessary, but stopped before bandaging them. Tim would likely want a shower. In his place, she would be eager for one.

When she was done, she pulled off the stained gloves and allowed her hands to fall to her lap. They sat quietly side by side, the distance between them feeling like miles instead of inches. Outside, rain slowly began to patter against the window. 

Finally, unable to bear the mounting tension any longer, Cassandra broke the silence.

"It's not okay. You keep saying it's okay, but it's not okay."

Tim's only response was to curl over himself, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands.

"It's not." Cassandra stated again more firmly.

"I," Tim started, voice cracking, even on the single syllable. "I can't talk about it right now, Cass." He whispered.

"Not right now?" Cassandra questioned. "But later? With Bruce?"

Tim's head whipped out of his hands and he fixed her with a wide eyed stare.

"No!" He stood up and paced a few steps, raking his hand through his hair. His posture betrayed his racing thoughts. Stress. Shame. Fear. "No, no, not with him. Not right now."  
Cassandra frowned.

"It wasn't your fault, Tim."

"I know!" He replied quickly, but Cassandra could tell he hadn't taken her words to heart. "I know that but I can't talk to him right now."

"If not with him, then with someone." Cassandra stood, moving in front of him to interrupt his pacing. Tim pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, as if trying to physically hold back his tears. "You shouldn't deal with this alone."

"Okay," Tim choked out, "Okay, I will. I just need a few days. I just..." He trailed off, utterly exhausted. "I have a few things to take care of in Gotham anyway."

"Okay." Cassandra conceded, putting a hand upon his shoulder comfortingly. This time Tim didn't flinch away from her touch. In fact, he leaned forward against her hand and allowed her to support him. 

He was under so much weight. 

They all were.

"I'm going to shower." He murmured softly. "You can take the bed. I'll crash on the couch."

Cassandra let her hand slide off of his shoulder and she offered him a smile.

"Alright. If you need me..."

"Thank you, Cass." Tim replied, returning her smile. It looked all wrong on his face, but Cassandra could appreciate the sentiment.

Cassandra watched as Tim rummaged through a closet, digging through several shirts that were clearly intended for someone more of Bruce's build than Tim's. He finally settled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt one size too large. 

"Tim?" Cassandra asked softly. Tim paused in the doorway to the bathroom, illuminated from behind with a soft white glow. "Help me with Cricket? When you're done in Gotham?"

A part of Cassandra hated to ask. Tim clearly had enough on his plate already and, while back up was always nice, Cassandra couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been able to handle a case alone. Cricket was different. Brash, cocky, and confident with skills to back it up. Another child molded into a killer. Like Damian. Like her.

And she wasn't sure if she could handle him alone.

It hurt to admit.

But then again, she thought, it would be hypocritical of her to tell Tim he needed to ask for help if she wouldn't do the same.

"Yeah," He replied softly, "I will. Count on it." The door shut behind him with a soft click. 

Cassandra waited until she heard the sound of the shower before moving to shed her costume. She grabbed a clean set of clothes from the closet, not bothering to try to match any of them to her size. They were merely for sleeping anyway. In the morning, she would be back in costume. Black Bat would race across Paris and catch a flight back East where all of her unsolved cases awaited her. 

Curled up in the bed, she closed her eyes tightly, forcing her breathing into a steady, deep rhythm and willing herself not to think of child assassins, uncertain futures, and her brother's haunted eyes.


End file.
